


I am not the way I ought to be

by lovetree



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fix-It of Sorts, Male Apprentice (The Arcana), Other, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2019-06-27 03:58:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15677577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovetree/pseuds/lovetree
Summary: the apprentice is deeply insecure about how different he is since he came back. he and asra have a much-needed talk.





	I am not the way I ought to be

**Author's Note:**

> yes, i played through with 2 different apprentices. honestly this is just fix-it fic for my own damn oc cus not everyone comes out mostly unscathed through growing up the second time around, and asra's Been Through Some Shit Too.

Miro had always felt like he wasn’t enough. No matter how warm and affectionate Asra was with him, the moment he left his student would descend into a spiral of self-doubt, always holding their early days against himself.

Back then he was confused and helpless and didn’t know how to not feel all of his emotions at once, and he was always so frustrated with how much he was unable to do. No matter how much he adored his teacher he couldn’t go more than a couple of days without biting his head off. Asra, ever patient, kept with it until Miro was recovered enough to manage his own mind again, but Asra couldn’t see how he was tearing himself up inside, so he never learned to forgive himself. When Asra started to leave on his journeys Miro’s heart would wrench in his chest every time, sure that it was his fault, that Asra had reached his limit and couldn’t bear to look at him anymore. But he always came back, and he never seemed to hate Miro like he thought he must.

Miro knew that Asra didn’t hold those days against him. He’d said as much, as clearly and plainly as anyone could need. He still treated Miro tenderly, still wanted to be close to him; but in the times when Miro’s mind was quiet and his magical awareness expanded further than most could hope to achieve, he generally gathered two emotions from Asra before his disjointed thoughts came crowding back in: unconditional affection and a creeping pain. He was absolutely certain he was responsible for the latter.

In the days following their trip to the Lazaret, Miro continues to regain memories of his life before. He sees them in his dreams at night, sweet pictures of himself and Asra together. A time when he was whole. He feels like a shattered pot that was carefully pieced back, but the structure is fragile, still missing chunks here and there. The person he was in his memories was able to be happy, still full of doubt but not to the crippling degree he experiences now.

He feels he could never hope to be that resilient again.

He worries that couldn’t truly be good enough for the person he loves.

He is, effectively, competing against himself.

The morning after a particularly colorful night at the Masquerade, he drifts slowly from another dream, head hazy and heavy from whatever he’d been drinking. He feels like he’s sunk surreally deep into his plush palace bed, surrounded by blankets and pillows and… Asra.

The memory comes back in the glimmer of a second, waking up like this with him before, except it was winter and they were in his bed at the shop. The similarity to the situation he finds himself in is jarring and he jolts upright, a short yelp escaping his throat before he clamps his jaw shut and looks down to see Asra stirring, brow furrowed at the sudden sound. His gaze drifts up to where Miro is sitting rigidly, and he props himself up on one elbow.

“You okay?”  
“I-It’s nothing.” He tries to look away, but Asra leans in closer to peer into his face.  
“Bad dreams?”  
“...Memories.” His lover’s eyes widen.  
“From…?”  
“From before, yeah.” He bites his lip. “We… we really were together, weren’t we?”

Asra lowers himself back onto the bed, and tugs at Miro’s arm for him to do the same. They lay on their sides, facing each other.

“We were. Together.” It’s the simplest answer Miro’s ever gotten out of him. He flushes mildly under that direct gaze, thinking again of the scene he just witnessed.  
“Was it… better, back then?”  
“We both had fewer worries,” Asra says slowly, thoughtfully. “But being with you now is twice as sweet, with all we’ve been through to get here.”

Miro draws back without thinking, face crumpling. Asra looks alarmed and reaches out for him, but stops short, unsure. He opens his mouth to speak but Miro beats him to it.

“How can you say that?”  
“What?”  
“It can’t be better now, not when I hurt you so much!”  
“I-” Asra tries to cut in again but Miro’s started and he can’t stop now, it’s all coming out.  
“You can’t hide it from me. When you look at me, you're in pain. I know I’ve always been difficult but ever since I came back it hasn’t been the same. It will _never_ be the same again-” he chokes on a sob. “I don’t want to keep hurting you.”

Asra clasps his own hands over Miro’s, telltale pain bare on his face. Miro can’t look at him.  
“You didn’t cause this. I did.”  
There’s a long pause. Miro can barely breathe.  
“I’m the one who brought you back. It’s my fault you couldn’t remember, and if I’m in pain it's because I pushed us both too far too many times trying to tell you the truth. So we could be here, like this.” Asra’s eyes shine. “I was selfish, and that’s why you’ve suffered. That’s why I feel sad sometimes, when I look at you.” The grip on his hands tightens. “It’s guilt, Miro. But that’s not the only thing I feel when I see you, and I think you know that too.”

Miro curls in on himself slightly, and Asra takes the opportunity to wrap his arms around him and pull him close. He nestles into Asra’s chest, quieting.

“I would have done the same for you,” he mutters. “Is that bad?”  
“I can hardly judge, love.”  
“Neither can I.” Miro sighs. “I don’t blame you for what you did. I’m happy I get to have this with you again.”  
“So am I.” Asra cups his cheek gently. “Miro, you can’t know how happy I am.”  
“Even though I’m different?” He speaks so quietly Asra can barely hear him.  
“You’re still you. No more different from before than I am. Grief and guilt will change a person, too.”

He says it, and Miro knows it’s true. In his memories, Asra is carefree, his youthful face not yet shadowed by the weight he carries now. Since Miro… died, Asra has become far more cautious, at once overbearing and withdrawn. He’s eased up in the past year, especially these busy couple of weeks but that lingering fear is still there where it wasn’t before.

“So it wasn’t just me.”  
“No. I built that wall between us. I thought I was protecting you.”  
“You don’t have to do that anymore.”  
“It’ll take some getting used to. But this feels so much better already. I always hated hiding things from you.”  
“You were pretty bad at it, Asra.”  
“Oh.” Miro looks up to see him go a little pink. “Was I?”  
“Or maybe I’m just really good at finding things out.” Despite his teasing tone, when he draws Asra down for a kiss, his expression is vulnerable and tender.

They spend another hour in quiet together, more peaceful than before, drifting in and out of sleep before finally getting ready to face the day.

**Author's Note:**

> mitski is real good music for writing asra fics :')))
> 
> also, didnt mark it as the 'other' gender ship category cus miro is trans, but because asra is canonically nonbinary :))))))))


End file.
